


It deepens like a coastal shelf

by AnnaofAza



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: Keith wants kids. Shiro doesn't.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 62





	It deepens like a coastal shelf

It’s after another visit to his old group home that Keith begins giving the idea a second thought.

The only part of his fame that he likes is getting to help people. He’s sat many, many hours with financial advisors — because the Paladins have an almost disgusting amount of wealth — making sure that the funds he donates go directly to the kids’ needs, not giving anyone else a chance to skim off the top.

And just to make sure, he drops in from time to time, sometimes unannounced. The home still has wary-eyed teenagers and fussy toddlers, a few looking up — heartbreakingly expectant — at visitors, but it’s a far cry from the one room of kids fighting over beat-up toys or laying listlessly in the corner.

Some are from homes better left, and some are orphans of the Galra occupation, eyes older than their tiny frame. Keith does his best to interact with each one, allowing the little ones to yank at his ever-growing braid (or put the end in their toothless mouths) or the shyer ones to simply stare at him, open-mouthed, as he reads a storybook. He even cradles the babies, balancing their heavy yet fragile heads in his war-scarred hands.

A long time ago, he wouldn't have considered it. The ache over his mom leaving still rubs raw, but more about what they didn't get to experience together than anger or abandonment. The home is still a source of bad memories, along with the string of foster homes — yet they set a fire in him. He _can_ do better. He _can_ give a kid a place to call home.

And with Shiro, settled in their home at last, the burdens of war lifted from their shoulders, Keith’s sure in a way he’s never been.

"Should we have kids?" Keith asks one morning, retrieving two slices of Hunk’s sourdough from the toaster, which streams melted butter on command, courtesy of Pidge’s tinkering.

From the breakfast table, Shiro chokes, sending most of his tea splattering across his mostly-empty plate and the handwoven place mats from Lance. _“Now?”_

"Not right now," Keith amends, grabbing a rag and tossing it at Shiro, whose floating arm easily catches it in midair. "In the future."

Shiro places his unscathed PADD on an empty chair and begins to mop up the mess, not looking at Keith. "I don't know I'd be a good parent."

Keith blinks, turns from the counter. "Shiro, you're kind and smart and sweet, and you're good with people—"

"People, yes," Shiro says. "But being a parent is different. You can mess up so much."

"I know," Keith says softly. _Boy_ , does he know. "But I think when it comes down to it, we'll love them no matter what, and we'll want what's best for them."

Shiro flinches.

Keith realizes this: Shiro's never talked about his family before. The questions were there, of course—why didn't Shiro ever go home for the holidays? Where were they at the funeral? Why did Keith get everything after Kerberos? 

But Shiro never brought it up and Keith never dug further. Keith could say it was from a nobler intent not to pry, but he still doesn't know how to ask these questions, even though he's been there. And sometimes, it's better not to even ask, to let the past drift away in hopes it would be forgotten. 

He abandons his plate and sits beside Shiro, who’s still staring at the table. Around them, the kitchen is completely silent, sunlight fading in and out beneath the curtains. Shiro had picked them out, saying the yellow would brighten up the room and reflect the desert sunset.

"I don't have a relationship with my family," Shiro says shortly, and Keith knows it will be the last time he'll ever talk about this. "Just my grandfather, before he died. I looked them up after the war. But I have a feeling they don't want to see me, and they stopped being family to me a long time ago."

His face goes softer, and he takes Keith's hand. "You're my family now, Keith. You and the Paladins."

In response, Keith squeezes Shiro’s hand. "We don't have to decide anything." 

"I don't want to hold you back," Shiro says at once.

"Don't—"

"No," Shiro's face is unmovable, almost stern. "Listen to me. This is a big decision, and you'd be a good parent, Keith. I don't want to stand in the way of that if I don't... if I can’t. I don't want to take that choice away."

Shiro rises from his seat and presses a fleeting kiss to Keith’s forehead. Up close, Keith can see the wayward stubble, the tease of a line between his eyes, before Shiro pulls away, then touches his shoulder. 

"I have to go in. I'll see you later."

Keith watches as Shiro leaves, the rest of his tea untouched, the damp rag still on the table, and wishes he knew the right words to say, even though they might not exist. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the last stanza of Phillip Larkin's "This Be the Verse": 
> 
> _Man hands on misery to man.  
>  It deepens like a coastal shelf.  
> Get out as early as you can,  
> And don’t have any kids yourself._


End file.
